"Turn your horses around and ride back down the mountain, Vance," Caleb said, his revolver held steady at his hip. "There's nothing for you up here."
Vance rode his sorrel horse forward three paces, stopping at the base of the rocky incline. "You're lying, Morrison. There's a blood trail leading straight up to that rock ledge. An Apache warrior with a crushed leg. His scalp is worth fifty silver dollars down at the settlement, and his weapons will fetch another twenty."
Vance sneered, raising his rifle horn slightly.
"Step aside, Morrison. You was a coward three years ago, and you're a coward today. Don't throw your life away over a redskin."
Caleb felt a deep, profound calm wash over his body.
The heavy, suffocating guilt that had weighed down his shoulders for three long years—the dark shadow that had haunted his dreams every night since Tonto Basin—suddenly lifted, dissolving like mist in the cold morning air.
He was no longer the confused young soldier obeying orders. He was a man standing on his own ground, defending a life he had saved with his own hands.
"I gave you your warning, Vance," Caleb said quietly.
Vance’s face twisted into a snarl of rage. He brought his Winchester rifle up to his shoulder with lightning speed.
BANG.
Caleb fired first.
The heavy lead bullet from Caleb’s Colt struck Vance square in the center of his chest before his rifle could level. Vance let out a choked gasp, his rifle slipping from his fingers as he tumbled backward off his horse, hitting the snow hard.
The clearing exploded into chaos.
The remaining four scalphunters raised their carbines, firing a wild volley up at the ledge.
Bullets smashed into the granite face around Caleb, sending sharp splinters of rock and white dust spraying through the air. One round tore clean through the sleeve of Caleb’s sheepskin coat, grazing his forearm.
Caleb dove behind a thick ponderosa pine, cocking his revolver and firing two quick shots down into the smoke, forcing the riders to scatter into the trees.
One rider—a lean man on a bay horse—spurred his mount up the steep, snowy slope to flank Caleb's position from the left, raising his revolver to shoot Caleb in the back.
THWACK.
A heavy, bone-tipped Apache hunting arrow tore through the air, striking the flanking rider straight through the shoulder.